Miles to Go
by aikiakane
Summary: A lone soldier struggles to find her place in the world.
1. Chapter 1

It was nearly nightfall as she wearily rode into the fortress. She sighed and knew this was the place they'd described in the Taunka village: dark spiked walls, occasionally brightened -albeit slightly- by the blood red banners of the orcs. The village, if you could call it that, was mostly still. Guards roamed the area, but the tradesmen looked to be packing up for the day. The air smelled acrid with metal and sweat, of course, that was common wherever war was on everyone's minds. She set her gaze on the largest building, most likely belonging to the resident warlord.

"I guess I can't delay it anymore, Beauty," she whispered to her horse, who promptly flicked her half-eaten tail. "I don't like it any more than you do, but we -I- made an oath to that Warchief that I intend to keep. It may not be Acherus, but for now ... this is home."

The woman led her horse around to the stables, and wordlessly secured a holding pen for the mare. A few nearby horses stamped in protest; a worg growled in disapproval. But the woman paid no heed to them. Natural animals never reacted well the first time they met a deathcharger; even if they'd seen others, each new charger was always met with resistance. Once Beauty was secure, the woman shouldered her pack and headed to face this village-fortress' warlord.

She walked slowly, weighed down with her own thoughts. Snow crunched loudly under her boots; she wondered if she could recall being cold. Sure, the biting wind hit her across her exposed sections of face and arms, chilled her armor and made her breath puff into light clouds, but that was no indication. Before she could really stop and examine it, however, she found herself face-to-face with a rather large orc flanked on either side with smaller, yet equally intimidating, guardsmen. The large one sat in a metal throne, spiked much like the fortress built around it.

He growled, then briskly laughed at the woman. "Little elf get lost in the snow, eh? Looking for someone to hold your hand and lead you back to Dalaran?"

She stood quietly, waiting for his meaningless banter to end. The orc frowned at her at last, obviously upset by her silence. "Answer me then, woman. What brings you to Agmar's Hammer? What makes you think I'll let you stay?"

The woman shrugged, and reached up to slowly remove her helm. The guards tensed, but did not move. Once she'd pulled off the cumbersome piece of metal, the elf instinctively tossed her head, shaking her hair loose from her skin. The long white-blond strands shone faintly, a stark contrast to her dark armor and surroundings.

With a calm, weary, graveled voice, she finally responded. "I pledged my skill to your -our- Warchief. I have traveled from Warsong Hold to offer you my services."

The warlord laughed:a full, throaty and spiteful sound. He rose from his chair and approached her. The orc grabbed her chin, jerking her head upward to force their gazes to meet. Her shining ice-blue eyes met his dark orbs and didn't blink, as if used to such treatment.

"Listen here, little girl. I'm full up to my nostrils in rotted flesh like you ... but Garrosh has the word out that we need all the soldiers we can get - no matter how ... unskilled. You'll work off your room-and-board, starting at sun-up. For now," he let her face go, snorting. "You can sleep in the basement. It's the only place that seems to cover up the smell of death."

She blinked once, twice, then bowed slightly. " I shall not disappoint you, Warlord. My worth should be apparent soon."

He grunted and waved the elven woman away, vaguely pointing toward the basement stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

After such a 'warm' welcome, it was no surprise to the sin'dorei woman that the offered directions would be an indifferent hand gesture. Still, it was better than being turned away. She walked away, careful to not linger in the main hall for long. The staircase echoed with her steps: a metal-on-metal clank that fell in time with every breath she took. _Funny,_ she thought, _I'd forgotten that I could still breathe._ A faint smirk brushed across her lips, a brief respite from the clouded thoughts she'd been holding onto.

Before long, the stairs gave way to what should have been a wide, airy space – now packed with columns of wooden crates that formed a forced passageway. It was greasy-smelling and metallic; the crates obviously had held (or in some still held) various weapons for the Horde's war effort. Had she still been in her previous life, the woman supposed that all of this would be a serious offense to her senses. Now, it was merely an annoyance, more in the way than bothersome.

She found her way through the makeshift passage easily enough, guided by the dim lights of half-melted candles interspersed along the wall. Out of habit, she pulled her axe from its sling on her back and held it in front of her slender frame, poised as if expecting an attack; the eerie runes she'd placed on it glowed more brightly than her surroundings. Her smirk returned as she wondered if any of the 'mighty' soldiers were actually afraid of the dark. _Perhaps,_ she told herself, _I'll test that out once I get a bit more … settled here._

Her steps began to feel heavy, a sure sign of fighting too many days without rest or personal care. The woman sighed and made the final turn to the widest-open spot she'd found in the basement. Sure enough, here were the 'gracious' accommodations the warlord was so willing to provide her. A table with a near-melted candle was sandwiched between two lopsided beds –cots, really– as they seemed to have been used by one too many overly paunch orcs. The mats on them were thin and frayed; the frames bent and held up by fragments of the very same crates that provided walls around her. A moth-ridden blanket was haphazardly thrown across the closer of the two beds.

She frowned, then tossed her pack onto the floor beside the table without sending so much as a glance into the dark area across from her bed. The elf took more careful attention to setting down her axe, gingerly resting it atop the pack. At last, she sat down; a grateful sigh escaping her lips. Her eyes closed briefly, her shoulders rolled back and forth, creaking her armor. With her eyes still closed, she began to undress.

Each buckle holding the pieces of plate came loose with effort, as if she'd forgotten to remove her armor for many days and nights. She had forgotten, of course. But now there was nothing but time to kill, and before long, every buckle and lash was undone and the dirty plate mail was piled at her feet. She stood again, stretching her pale frame to its fullest height, clad only in frayed bandages around her chest and a thin silken pair of half-breeches at her hips. She ran her lithe fingers through her pale hair, straining at the knots until most had been removed. At last, she opened her eyes to gaze down at herself.

_No,_ she thought. _Nothing has changed. So many whitened scars … not a bloody one among them. If only I could just feel them once more … to know they were real …_

Her fingers hesitated, then slid down her arms, gliding delicately over raised scars and the bandages that vainly covered them. She moved at last to the largest wrapping at her chest and the fine knot that kept it all in place. The woman nodded to herself; it was time to see it again, to touch the mark that, in one blow, destroyed and remade her. However, just as she reached for those strings, a voice broke her concentration.

"If I were any other man, I might see this as an invitation of the flesh, little Death Knight."

She froze in place, in awe of the graveled timbre that had pierced the darkness above the second bed. _Idiot, you should have looked. And you pride yourself on being observant. Wait … I know that voice, don't I?_

"Good thing for you that my desire for such entertainment ran cold years ago. Show me your face. I want to see who I'm speaking to."

The woman hesitated, but finally looked up and across to the other bed. Her composure wavered briefly – was it fear or curiosity? She couldn't tell; it had been too long since she'd actually kept track of such trivial things as emotions. "I … I know your voice. I remember hearing it so often in Acherus before we all … left. M-Master Koltira … I-"

"I am no one's master now, girl." He leaned forward from his perch in the corner, a faint twitch of a smirk curled in the corners of his thin lips. "But I cannot lie; my ego does enjoy the boost given by a respectful title."


End file.
